Dire Harvest Book 2 Chapter 8

ONE

“Time to wake up, kiddo,” Kara Walker said, standing at the door to her son Nolan’s room. “It’s Saturday Hike With Mom Day!” She sat on the boy’s bed and shook the mound of blankets he was nesting under. “Come on, Little Butt. Time to get up.”

Nolan groaned. “Can we skip today, mom?”

“Nope,” she said. “Breakfast is ready in the kitchen. Let’s go!” She shook him again, then got on top of him and tickled his sides and stomach. Nolan laughed and squirmed. She adored the sound of his child-voice. He was eleven now, and his voice would soon change to a deeper tone, but he still sounded like her little boy at the moment. She would tickle him a little longer today and absorb every second of his laughter today and hope today would last forever. She planned on tickling him until that sad moment arrived when he’d be too strong or too quick for her to catch. 

She stood, picked up a few articles of dirty laundry that lay scattered about the floor, and left her son’s room. “Five minutes,” she said as she walked down the stairs. “Any later and no more Nintendo for Little Butt.” She laughed, knowing her threat was hollow, but it would do the trick; he’d be down in just a few seconds.

TWO

The town was already coming alive, even though the sun had only been up for a few minutes. There was a lot of work ahead today. Most of the tables and tents were set up the day before, along with decorations and various other preparations. Now it was time to fill those tables full of merchandise for the oncoming crowd. And if last year’s turnout was any indication of how today would shape up, the town square would probably be filled to capacity. Cumberland Springs didn’t have the parking available to accommodate all the people who’d be coming in today, so Glen didn’t care where they parked, as long as they didn’t block the roads off completely.

He came to work early today, wanting to be in town before people began filtering in. There would be lots of unfamiliar faces—coming from God only knew where—and Glen felt it best to be available when the crowd arrived. They’d never had a problem in the past with the yard sale (the event had been going on since clear back in the 1950s), so historically, today shouldn’t be any different. But times had changed. There was nothing wrong with being watchful and airing on the cautious side when a horde of strangers was about.

Glen walked around the square, taking in the sights and sounds of a town full of excitement. It wasn’t New York City by any stretch, but the bustling of busy people added a feeling of exhilaration to the air. 

The Preservation Society sponsored this event. They were here already, making final preparations and such. Bill Harper, an older gentleman who had worked these town events with his wife for as far back as anyone could remember, stopped Glen as he walked by their sign-in booth. “Say, Chief, what do ya know today?” Bill said.

“Morning, Bill,” Glen said. He tried to keep walking without getting sucked into a conversation—a pointless effort. The old guy came around to the front of the booth and started walking with him, uninvited. Bill Harper was like that. If he wanted to talk to you, you had little a choice in the matter. 

“I’ve been meaning to ask you, Chief,” Bill said in a low voice. He looked around to make sure they were out of earshot of anyone else. “Whatever happened with that body you all found last November? I heard rumors about it, but never really got the story from anyone in ‘official’ (he actually made air quotes with his fingers) capacity.”

This was the last conversation Glen wanted to have with anyone today, especially this early in the morning. “Well, Bill, there isn’t much to tell beyond what you’ve probably already read in the paper about it. There were several articles that came out around that time. You read those, didn’t you?”

“Oh yeah, I read ‘em alright. But they didn’t explain much,” Bill said.

“I gave all the information I had to the reporter who covered the story,” Glen said. “I have nothing more to tell you than that, buddy. Sorry.”

“Now come on, Glen,” Bill said. “I’ve known you since you were a little kid, riding your bike around here with the two Rolley boys. Are you really gonna tell me there’s nothing more to this story than some drifter junkie who passed out in a potting shed?” 

Glen patted the man on the shoulder. “I’m not going to tell you anything, Bill. It’s not a conversation I’m open to having today.” Glen smiled. “Have a good day with the yard sale. I imagine it’s going to be a busy one.” He continued walking, leaving Bill standing on the sidewalk with his disappointed face and sloped shoulders.

The thought of that decimated scarecrow (Hanson Parker) had haunted Glen’s mind ever since the night he had found him. The last thing he wanted to think of on a day like today was that thing. He could almost smell the disgusting stench which had hit him in the face when he opened the potting shed door that night. He imagined it would be with him forever. 

He shook the memory out of his head and continued his walk with a smile.

THREE

During his initial casing of the area last night, Gary had found several places that looked promising for fertile hunting ground. The first was the town square, but they were set up to have a big event there today. Crowds meant one of two things: one (on the upside), there would be a lot of new faces in town, and he could easily blend in, however, two (on the downside), there were a lot more people to catch him making a grab. True, kids disappeared in public places in broad daylight all the time, but he didn’t have that much faith in his skills at the moment. After all, he had just started this shit a few days ago. Maybe in a year he’d have enough confidence in the craft, but not today.

Another place that would be full of people was a park that was within walking distance of the town square (Falls Park might have been its name). It was a beautiful place, from what he could see in the dark. There was a small waterfall in a river that ran right through the middle of the park and a metal walking bridge extending over to another recreation area on the other side. He imagined this would be a place where families spent warm afternoons playing frisbee, fishing, sitting on blankets with picnic baskets, grilling hot dogs, blah, blah, blah… It looked like a safer place to do his work than the town square, but still too open for comfort. 

The best place he had found was about two miles outside of town. A nice sized lake and park called Shawnee Lake. It was perfect. The lake was huge and even had a beach with actual sand and a concession building and canoe and boat rentals, along with lots of other recreational bullshit. Best of all, it was remote. The park surrounding the lake had eleven different parking areas with bathroom facilities and camping sites and even an eight-mile hiking trail that encircled the lake. This was definitely the place. He knew there would be people here today, families he could pick apart and take the pieces he needed for his reward. And he could hide anywhere. Smash and grab, then hit the woods and get the fuck out fast! Yes, Shawnee Lake is where he would make his play.

Gary drove the van past the welcome sign and continued deeper into the back part of the park. He found the place where the lake trail began and parked the van in a secluded spot by the bathroom facilities. He would sit here and wait. Eventually, someone would come along who fit the perfect profile of what he needed. 

“Tell me, Mr. Elmer,” Zlo spoke up. “What brings us to this place today?”

“I’m starting here,” Gary said.

“Yes, but why?” Zlo asked. “Isn’t this area remote?”

“Yeah, but that’s what makes it so perfect,” Gary said. “I can make my move and get out of sight, quick.”

Zlo didn’t speak for a few minutes, but Gary could feel an odd vibration stirring from within. He surmised the entity inside didn’t approve of his strategy. But wasn’t the agreement that it would leave him alone to make his moves as he saw fit?

“Yes, that is part of our agreement,” Zlo spoke up, having read Gary’s mind. “But only after we make this wretched place suffer. We are not here at you leisure, Mr. Elmer. This first adventure is to satiate me.”

“That’s what I’m doing,” Gary argued. “You want three kids, and I don’t want to get caught. I thought you wanted the same thing, didn’t you? For us to have a long relationship without me getting locked up or shot or any other damn thing that could happen if I’m not careful?”

Zlo went silent again, and Gary didn’t care. Fuck it if it can hear me; I don’t give a shit!

FOUR

The sun had just awakened when Agent Ward had left the Whites Creek Recreation Area on his way to Cumberland Springs, but by the time he had made it to his destination—through winding back roads and rural routes—it had shown itself completely, though still fairly low in the sky. Damn, it was bright today, and it was only 7:30 AM. 

When he pulled into town, a sight unfolded he certainly did not expect to see this early in the morning. The place was bustling. There were people everywhere, with cars, trucks, and vans all over the place. They were having some kind of festival or something; that was clear. What wasn’t apparent was why the hell he was even here at all. A dream? Sure, why not just chase down every nightmare he’d ever had? That was productive. Though he couldn’t deny last night’s dream was more than simply realistic. He didn’t know he was dreaming until he had actually woken up. It was a dream, right?

After a few minutes of tooling around town, he found a place to park near the square. He looked around, then saw his destination, plain as day, like a beacon of hope at the end of the world. Nana’s Diner. Ward’s mouth began watering the second he saw the sign. He hadn’t eaten since supper with his parents last night, so an old-fashioned diner breakfast sounded like the best thing on earth right now. Eggs, bacon, pancakes, biscuits, country gravy, coffee… yep, hand it all over. This made him happy. And if this breakfast turned out to be as good as he imagined it would be, the drive out here would have been worthwhile.

He walked across the town square, then went inside the little diner. It was busy, but there were still three empty seats at the counter. The smell was intoxicating. And from what he saw on the plates of a few people already eating, this breakfast just might create a memory.

FIVE

The sun was bright, yet the air still felt cool and crisp. It was going to be warm today, but for now, the temperature was perfect for a hike around the lake. 

Kara Walker parked her car in the middle of the lot in Recreation Area #9, a spot further into Shawnee Lake Park where the lake trail began. It was out of the way and quiet back here. Only one other vehicle—a blue van parked over by the bathrooms—shared the lot with them. It wasn’t unusual to see a van like that around here. People camped inside those things all the time. 

Nolan got out of the car and joined his mother as she stretched her legs. He didn’t really see the reason for all this stretching at the beginning of their hike each week, but it was her ritual, and she made him participate. He half-heartedly went along with it. 

“Ready, Little Butt?” Kara said and started onto the trail. 

Nolan followed. He took one last look back at the van parked over by the bathrooms, not really knowing why.

They had walked for about five minutes, long enough to lose sight of the car and the parking lot, when Kara had the odd feeling they were being watched. She looked around, not seeing anyone else, but couldn’t shake the feeling. 

“What are you looking at, mom?” Nolan asked.

“Nothing, sweetie,” she said. “Nothing at all.” Her voice wasn’t reassuring.

They continued hiking. Another few minutes passed until she couldn’t handle the feeling any longer. A danger sense had arisen in her. They had hiked this trail for years, but she had never had apprehension like this before. She stopped and listened. Nothing seemed out of place—just the usual nature sounds of birds, insects, a light breeze rustling leaves—but the air wasn’t right. She looked at Nolan. His face said the same thing.

“Honey, I don’t feel like hiking today,” Kara said. “Let’s go back and call it a day.”

“Ok, mom.”

They turned and began heading back to the car. In a few seconds, they were both startled by the sight of a thin man in blue jeans and a white t-shirt who was about twenty yards away. He had long, greasy hair and was walking toward them. They had passed people all the time on this trail, so there was no need to panic now. He was probably just another hiker out for a pleasant morning stroll around the lake. That thought quickly vanished, though, when the man launched into a full sprint, heading right at them.

“Run, Nolan! Run!” Kara screamed as she turned and ran with her son. “Come on, baby! Go, go, go!”

They poured their hearts into running as fast as their legs would allow. The footsteps from behind sounded louder and closer. Kara let out short, panicking cries between her gasps for air. The footsteps were inches away. A hand grasped her shoulder and pulled at her, causing her to lose balance and fall to the ground in a tumble. She screamed the loudest roar she’d ever heard come out of her. The next sensation was of white hot pain, radiating from her abdomen in pulses, one every half-second. Terror seized her when she realized what the pain was from. The bastard was stabbing her with a knife. She could feel the cold metal enter and leave her body each time he thrusted the instrument into her. She had never known pain like this could exist. Her mouth filled with blood and she choked on it, spitting the red juice into the air, right in front of her eyes.

Sound faded into the distance and darkness closed in from the corners of her eyes. She became weak and helpless, unable to lift her arms in defense. The last thing she saw before the blackness came for her was Nolan. He had come back to save his mother. The man who had overtaken her was now up and struggling with her son, who was giving his all to stop this creature. She faded into the blackness, not knowing if Nolan had escaped or if he was to suffer the same fate as her.

SIX

Larry Gilmore and Danny Walker had arrived to start their morning shift. Glen had come in much earlier to begin the police work for the day, but that was of his own accord. Larry and Danny weren’t scheduled to start until 8:00 AM, which is the exact time they had arrived. 

They met up with Glen by the gazebo, where he went over the plan for the day. It was pretty simple: walk around, keep an eye out for anything suspicious, call for backup if something happens. There wasn’t much more to do than that. But there would be a lot of unfamiliar faces in town today; he wanted his officers to remain vigilant.

After speaking with his crew, Glen headed over to Nana’s for breakfast. Larry and Danny had the duties under control. He felt fine leaving them to it.

As he had expected, Nana’s was packed. Lots of out-of-town folks filling up before a day of shopping, antiquing, and bargain hunting. The little diner was always filled to capacity on event days. There were still a few stools open at the counter, which is where Glen wanted to sit anyway, so he’d just squeeze in next to someone over there. And if he didn’t know them, now would be the perfect time for an introduction. 

There was a man who looked quite out-of-place sitting at the counter. He was younger than forty and wore a black suit, which was very unusual for a yard sale day. Mostly everyone else in town was dressed casual and comfortable. Though the guy did look strangely comfortable in this attire. 

Glen walked up next to the man in black and asked if he could sit at the open spot next to him. The man turned and looked up. Glen’s face went pale and his heart almost dropped out of his chest. He recognized this fellow right away. It was the FBI agent who had come here last November, tracking the John Doe they had found. This was the last person on earth Glen had expected to run into today, and the last person he wanted to. The guy had come here back then under the most unusual circumstances, but with good reason. He was, after all, hunting the person who just happened to end up in Glen’s sleepy little town. But what was he doing here now? That mess was all over, as far as Glen had known.

“Chief Crawford,” Agent Ward said, extending his hand. 

Glen shook hands. “Agent Ward, right?” Glen said. “Wow! This is quite a surprise today. What brings you out this way?”

Ward laughed and gestured to the stool next to him. Glen took a seat.

Pattie, the morning shift waitress, came by. “Hey Chief! Coffee?” She held the pot in her hand.

“Yeah, Pattie, I’ll have coffee,” Glen said. “And I’ll take the country ham breakfast, too.”

“Sure thing. I’ll get that right out for ya.”

Glen looked at Agent Ward, who was halfway through a rather large breakfast himself. “So what’s going on, Agent? What brings you out here today?”

Agent Ward looked like he didn’t want to answer the question, but knew he had no choice. The police chief had a right to be concerned when an FBI agent showed up in town, especially one who had been part of a case that concluded here. “Chasing ghosts,” Ward said.

“Well, that tells me a lot,” Glen said.

“It’s a long story, Chief Crawford,” Ward said. “Nothing to be concerned about.”

“Does it have to do with John Doe?” Glen said in a low voice, trying to avoid alerting any nearby ears.

“You’re talking about Hanson Parker,” Ward said. “I can’t really say at the moment, Chief.” He actually could say, but the last thing he wanted to do was tell the police chief of a small town that he was told to visit here today by a person he had met in a dream last night while parked next to a creek in the middle of the woods. It sounded crazier now than it did last night. “But I can tell you there is nothing to worry about. Consider my presence here just a friendly visit.” He took another bite from his delicious breakfast. “I see you’re having an event today?”

“Huh? Oh yeah. The yard sale,” Glen said. “It’s a pretty big deal around here.”

They continued talking and eating breakfast together. Ward did his best to make the chief feel at ease about his visit today. Glen relaxed a bit, but his concern refused to go away completely.

SEVEN

Well, that was easy enough, Gary thought. So far, so good! He was in the van, driving out of the park with his first catch of the day secured—unconscious—in the back. He didn’t have any trouble at all with this one. It was kind of funny when the kid came rushing back, trying to save his mother. Gary didn’t even have to chase the little fucker down. He had easily knocked him out with the butt of his buck knife (a technique he had grown fond of) while the kid made a valiant effort to draw the attacker away from his mother. As for her, Gary had dragged her dead body off the trail and left it twenty or thirty yards into the woods. Opossums are eatin’ good tonight! 

The operation was going well. It was a good boost of confidence for Gary. A few more like this and he could slip out of town and collect his reward later. He fantasized about the intensity of what was about to come. It would be glorious!

He drove the van slowly out of the park and headed East. The barn where he planned to hide his prey was on the other side of town. The GPS didn’t have an alternative route for him, so going through town was really the only option. It shouldn’t be a problem, though. There were so many out-of-town vehicles buzzing around today; he could easily blend in this blue piece of shit with the rest of them.

He went through town via a side street. The neighborhood where he ended up was full of quaint houses, well kept yards, and yes, even a few picket fences. A lot of the spill over parking for the event had filtered onto these streets, which was perfect! Now he looked like any other asshole driving around, looking for a parking spot. Nothing suspicious here. 

He continued slowly, looking for the best way to avoid the main part of town and slip out to his hiding place—his lair. 

“Look to your right, Mr. Elmer,” Zlo spoke. “There, in the grass.”

Gary looked. There was a nice older cape cod-style house with a perfect yard and lots of flowers and landscaping. But upon further inspection, he understood exactly what Zlo had told him to look at. A small girl with dark hair, playing alone in her front yard. She was perfect and right at his fingertips.

“She certainly is perfect,” Zlo said. “You must procure her, now!” The vibration coming from Zlo was so severe it nearly shook Gary’s entire body. He had never felt the entity like this.

Gary scanned the area from the driver's seat. What he could see from here looked clear; there didn’t seem to be anyone around. He grabbed the buck knife from the center console of the van (he kept it there in case he needed to reach it in a split second), readied himself to spring, and slowly pulled the door lever.

Before he could push the door open, the face of a man appeared at his window. The man was smiling and had a pleasant, unassuming guise. And shit! He was wearing a cop uniform. He motioned for Gary to roll down his window. Gary did, slowly, doing his best to hide the jolt of adrenaline that had just coursed throughout his body.

“There’s more parking available on Grant Street,” the cop said. “Just head up to the stop sign over there and make a right. There’s about four or five open spots up there.”

Gary smiled and an immense weight fell away from his shoulders. “Thank you, officer,” Gary said. 

“Are you buying or selling today?” the cop asked.

“Huh? Oh. A little of both, I suppose,” Gary said.

“Well, best of luck to ya,” the cop said, smiling. He looked like a genuinely nice guy. “I hope you find some great deals or make a lot of money. Take care.”

“Thank you, sir,” Gary said.

Now what? He couldn’t snatch the girl with a cop rolling around. He put the van in drive and slowly drove in the direction the man had given him. Stop sign, make a right. Shit! 

“Where are you going?” Zlo asked, sounding annoyed.

“Back to the barn,” Gary replied. 

“Your prey is right here, right now,” Zlo demanded. “Why are you leaving?”

“There’s a fucking cop walking around,” Gary said. He looked at his side mirror. “The fucker is still standing back there!”

“Deal with him and collect your quarry. Do it now!”

Gary looked in the mirror again. “I can’t tangle with that dude in broad daylight in this neighborhood. We’ll be finished right out of the gate.”

“Mr. Elmer, know this: I will accept no other,” Zlo said. “That child has a radiance which reeks of innocence. I must destroy it. That vile thing can exist no more.”

A shocking vibration shot through Gary’s body, powerful and intense, much more than just a wake up call. It was punishment for disobedience. “Okay, okay, I get the damn message!” Gary yelled out in pain. “We’ll get her!” 

The shock subsided, and Gary relaxed slightly. He was out of breath from the ordeal and shaking. 

“You may have a moment to formulate a strategy,” Zlo said. “But that child is the only thing that matters now. I want its light to end immediately!”

“Fine,” Gary said. “Let me take this other kid back to the barn and I’ll figure it out from there. Good?” 

Zlo didn’t answer, but its vibrations still rumbled from deep within. Gary was more nervous now than at any other moment during this whole grand adventure.

EIGHT

When Gary had finally made his way out to the old farm road where the barn sat in an overgrown field, he felt better. The road was desolate. He had yet to see another vehicle out here. 

Upon arrival, he opened the metal pasture gate by the road, drove through the field up to the barn, then hid the van inside, closing the barn up tight. He thought about taking a rest but realized that would be a terrible idea at the moment. Somebody would start looking for the woman and her kid, probably sooner than later. He needed to get this operation over with and get the hell out of Dodge fast.

There was an old rusted plow under the big canvas tarp (it looked like nothing more than a giant hunk of metal) which was perfect to tie the kid to. The little shit was semi-conscience at this point, but still no trouble to deal with. Gary took some rope he had bought a few days ago, along with a roll of duct tape, and secured the boy to part of the metal plow. He tried to lift the thing, but it was way too heavy. There was no way this kid could fare any better if he somehow tried to move it. Gary used the duct tape for the mouth and put an extra layer over the kid’s roped hands and feet for good measure. He then covered the boy and farm equipment back over with the dirty canvas tarp. 

Standing back, looking at the large mass of canvas, Gary felt a cigarette was in order. A small reward for a job well done. He leaned against the van and smoked, all the while thinking about his next move. The girl. How was he going to do this in broad daylight? He’d have to figure it out on the spot; there was no more time to piss around. 

He put out the cigarette on the dirt floor, jumped in the van, and headed back into the daylight.

NINE

Reverend Allen arrived at Lauren and Clay’s house at 8:45 AM. He had hardly slept at all last night, dwelling on the fact that evil was somewhere in their midst. He had believed Lauren. Her feelings and visions were real, and they grew stronger by the day. The reverend had known Lauren and her family well and trusted them. Her predilection about a source of evil entering Cumberland Springs last night was as good as gospel. Now the problem would be trying to find the damn thing. Or worse, what would they do if they did?

Choosing not to get out of the car, he texted them from the driveway. They had spoken this morning when the reverend called, checking to see if Lauren was still having that terrible feeling from last night. She was. They had collectively decided right then to go out and look for it. Perhaps they could get a better perspective on what had actually entered town last night; maybe they might find it and deal with it; maybe the cursed thing would rear its repugnant head and destroy them. None of them knew what they were walking into today, but they had all agreed they had to do something. Standing by while this thing slithered through the streets—their streets—was not an option for anyone. 

They came outside and got into the reverend’s car, Lauren up front, Clay in the back. Both looked nervous. 

“How do you feel, Lauren?” Reverend Allen asked. He looked at her with a concerned face.

“It’s still here,” she said grimly. “I don’t feel it like I did last night when I passed that vehicle on the road, but it hasn’t left yet. I’m sure of it.” 

“Okay,” the reverend said. “I think our best plan of action is to drive around town and see if something pops up. We’ll watch out for anything unusual or anymore intense feelings you may receive. Sound like a plan?”

They agreed.

“The big yard sale is today,” Clay said. “Might be a good place to start?”

TEN

The Petroski family were all brimming with excitement when they got out of the SUV. They had just adopted a new dog—a Weimaraner named Pax—and couldn’t wait to take him out to the lake trail to let him run around all over the place. He had so much energy and was such great fun for the kids. Phil and Ann Petroski loved watching their children—Freddie and Tiffany—erupt in laughter while playing with Pax. He was definitely an important part of the family now. 

Pax didn’t hesitate when they opened the back door of the SUV, springing into action like an Avenger taking on the world. The kids ran with him, yelling and laughing. 

“Don’t go too far,” Ann called out. 

The kids and the dog were already dashing up the lake trail. 

“I guess this is going to be more of a running day rather than a hiking day,” Phil said to his wife. They locked up the vehicle and headed for the trail. 

After only five minutes of walking, Phil and Ann came upon Tiffany. She was standing in the middle of the trail, looking into the woods.

“What’s wrong, pumpkin?” Phil said, approaching his daughter. 

“Pax ran into the woods,” she said, pointing at the trees.

“Where’s your brother?” Ann asked, sounding frustrated.

“He went in there after Pax.”

Phil took off his small backpack and sat it on the ground. “Stay here with her,” he said to his wife, then started into the woods. “Freddie!” he called out as he traversed the underbrush.

The briars were thick and really pissing Phil off. He had told the boy many times to stay on the trail. The woods were dangerous, especially with tics and lyme disease being a problem in this area. “Freddie!” he yelled out again.

A few yards ahead, in what looked like a clearing in the brush, he saw his son’s red jacket (they always dressed the kids in bright colored clothing—easy to spot in a crowd if one wandered off). 

“You didn’t answer me, son,” Phil said, approaching the boy from behind. “I’ve been calling you.”

Still no answer from his son. Pax ran up to Phil, then sprinted back to Freddie and sat next to him. 

When he reached the boy, he understood why his son had not answered his calls. The kid was in shock. Freddie stared at the ground, frozen in fear, his body shaking like he had spent the night in a snowbank. 

It looked foreign at first. Phil couldn’t exactly make out what he was looking at. Was it just a pile of discarded clothes or something? But further inspection revealed a horror he could have never imagined. This was a woman, covered in blood. A look of terror etched forever into her face like stone. Phil grabbed his mouth when he saw the worst part, trying his hardest not to throw up but losing the battle. Her stomach was ripped open, exposing piles of intestines and other blood soaked organs to the world outside of her skin. 

He couldn’t breathe. Finally, Phil let loose the components of this morning’s home cooked bacon, eggs, and hash browns that Ann had made, all over the ground. He was dizzy and his eyes filled with tears, blurring his vision in an under water haze. He forced himself to breathe, somehow understanding he needed to control himself and the situation, for his family’s sake. He needed to be a man and take care of his son right now. 

Phil pulled himself together, enough to scoop up Freddie and carry him through the underbrush and back to the trail. “Come on, Pax!” he yelled; the dog followed.

He made it back to the trail with the boy and the dog. Anne had a terrified look on her face—not quite as terrified as the dead woman they had just found—as she observed her husband and son’s condition. 

“Call 911,” Phil said, struggling to catch his breath. “Call it now!”

ELEVEN

Unlike the last time the two men were together, today Glen and Agent Ward were actually enjoying each other’s company. And strangely enough, their conversation seemed to be just the thing Ward had needed to relax. The dreams, the voices on the recordings, the memory of Katie’s abduction and death… they seemed to fade away with this fantastic breakfast and enjoyable exchange with Chief Crawford. Both of them instinctively avoided the subject of Hanson Parker, somehow knowing it would kill the mood and perhaps even end their chat all together.

“This is a great little town you have here, Chief,” Ward said. “I didn’t see much of it the last time I was here, but it looks like a really nice place.”

“We kinda like it,” Glen said, smiling. “I’ll show you around, if you have time, that is.”

Ward thought for a moment, knowing he had no idea why he was even here in the first place. “Sure, I’d be up for that.”

Glen summoned the waitress over and paid for both checks. 

When they walked outside into the busy town square, the first thing they noticed was one of Glen’s officers, Larry Gilmore, running toward them. Glen could tell Larry was nervous.

“Chief!” he said, out of breath. “Chief, Lindsay just called over the radio from dispatch. Someone found a body out at the lake on the hiking trail.”

Glen looked around to see if anyone had heard what Larry had just announced to the world. Several people were looking at them with concerned interest. “Okay, keep it down, Larry. I don’t want the whole town in a panic.”

“Sorry, Chief,” Larry said.

“You said a body, right?” Glen asked, keeping his voice low.

“Yes, sir.” 

“Alright, you and Danny stay here and keep watch over the crowd. I’ll head out there now. And keep your mouth shut about this, understand?”

“Okay, Chief,” Larry said.

Glen looked at Agent Ward. “Got anything else to do today?”

“I can assist, Chief,” Ward replied. His friendly demeanor had instantly changed to all business. 

When Glen and Agent Ward arrived at Shawnee Lake Recreation Area #9, the spot where the lake trail began, Glen saw Phil and Ann Petroski with their children. He knew this family very well (he’d even graduated in the same high school class with Ann). Phil didn’t look so good right now, though, nor did any of them, for that matter. They were all standing by their SUV, looking disheveled, shocked even.

“Hey, Phil, Ann,” Glen said when he got out of the car and approached them. “What’s going on?”

Phil motioned to his family to stay where they were, then walked over to Glen and Agent Ward. He was nervous and trying to keep it together. “Glen,” he said in a low, grim voice. “There’s a dead woman in the woods, just off the trail.” He pointed in the direction behind him. 

“Did you see her?” Glen asked.

Phil shook his head. “My boy did, too. He’s not doing so good right now.”

Glen looked over at Phil’s family. He could tell from here the boy was in shock. “Okay, buddy. We’ll get an ambulance out here right away. Can you show me where the body is?”

Phil shook his head again, then led them to the trail. He stopped after a few minutes of walking and looked into the tree-line. “In there,” he said, pointing to the underbrush. 

Ward looked around and noted the surrounding area. “Hang on a second, Chief.” He studied some of the weeds and brush at the trail edge. “There was a struggle here.” He pointed to blood spatter he had found on several leaves and footprints in the dirt. He stood up and addressed Phil Petroski. “Sir, can you go back to the opening of the trail and make sure no one enters? Tell them the trail is closed at the moment, please.”

Phil abided without reluctance.

Ward and Glen looked at each other (Glen with apprehension, Ward with conviction). They started into the woods.

In just a few moments, they had found what Pax the dog had led young Freddie to earlier. Glen stooped down beside the body and Ward stood above. It only took a second before Glen realized who it was staring back up at him. “Oh, no!” he said quietly and shook his head.

“You know this person?” Ward asked.

Glen tried to keep his emotions from taking over. He had a hard time speaking, but he pushed it through shakily. “It’s Kara Walker. She’s my wife’s best friend.”

He looked back down at the woman. She was covered in blood and some of her organs were leeching out of giant gashes in her stomach. Tears filled his eyes, causing his sight to blur.

“Chief!” Ward said. “She’s not dead!”

Wiping his eyes enough to see more clearly, Glen looked closer at Kara’s face. She blinked, and he almost fell backwards. “Kara!” he said, urgently. “Kara, stay with us!” 

Ward dialed 911 on his phone and called for an ambulance.

Kara blinked again, but did not move her eyes. Her chest rose in shallow breaths, almost too subtle to notice, but she was breathing on her own. A nearly inaudible sound came from her throat, mixed with a gurgle of blood. 

Glen put his head closer to hers and cocked his ear to one side, trying to make out what she was struggling to say. She was doing her best to convey something, but failing. “Kara, what is it?” Glen beckoned. 

Finally, after several efforts, she was able to form sounds into a word that Glen recognized. “Nolan!” There was no more effort to give after that. Nolan would be Kara Walker’s last word. She had hung on to this world long enough to speak it, and now her time had ended. 

Glen stood up and looked at Ward. “Call everyone you know right now!” he ordered. “State Troopers, FBI… anyone you can. I think someone has her son, Nolan. We need to act fast!” He grabbed his radio and shouted into it. “This is Chief Crawford. I need all officers to Shawnee Lake right now! Recreation area #9. Homicide and possible child abduction.”

TWELVE

The ambulance roared through Shawnee Lake Park, screeching tires at every sharp bend. Ed Martin, the driver, wasn’t good at much in life—nor did he aspire to be—but he could drive the ambulance like a pro. Outside of that, he wasn’t a contributor to society.

Ronnie and Devon jumped out of the back once the ambulance came to a halt at Recreation Area #9. They were immediately stopped by a dark-haired, athletic looking man in a black suit. He held up an ID that read: Federal Bureau of Investigation, in easy to read bold letters. 

“Gentlemen,” the man said. “I’m Special Agent Henry Ward. This is an active crime scene at the moment. I’ll ask that you tread cautiously. Check the body for vitals. If the victim is still alive, you can remove her. If she is deceased, I’ll ask that you leave her alone and again cautiously exit the area. Understood?”

The two paramedics nodded in agreement and followed the agent into the trail. While walking, Devon had the feeling again—the nervousness, the anxiety, the fear. But it wasn’t coming from within. It felt like it existed in the natural world all around him. However, now it seemed inactive, if that was possible, like he had come to a place where something sinister had walked and left its mark upon the land. It was in the trees and bushes and rocks and earth. Something had tainted this place, and he could feel it, smell it, almost taste it.

He didn’t let on about his feeling to his partner; that could wait. There was business at hand now, and no time for anything else.

When they arrived at the body, and Devon got right up close to it, he couldn’t help but think about Iraq. This poor woman looked just as bad as any Marine he’d seen killed in combat. Whoever had done this foul deed had done it with a heavy amount of rage. The attacker wanted to do more than subdue her; he wanted to destroy her. It was an inhuman act in the most basic of terms.

After careful examination, and a run through all the protocols, Devon looked back at the FBI Agent, who was watching them closely. He shook his head, signaling the woman was deceased. 

“Thank you, gentlemen,” Agent Ward said. “I’ll ask that you leave the body where it is and cautiously leave the area.” He held out his arm, motioning them to head out in his direction.

THIRTEEN

The crappy blue van Gary had purchased from a less than reputable man at a less than reputable salvage yard actually blended nicely with the other vehicles in town today. When he returned to the street where the little dark-haired girl was playing in her front yard, there were a lot more cars parked in the area—a lot more like his shitty blue van. This felt right. The universe was helping him. Maybe he really was on the right side of things, now that Zlo had come into the picture. He couldn’t deny the brakes he’d been getting lately. Not sticking out like a whore in church in this inbred little town was just another blessing to add to the list. 

He found a spot up the street from his target house and wormed the van in between a pickup truck and an SUV. The street was quiet. It looked like everyone was at the event in town, which was just a few bocks from here. 

He hoped his target was still at home; she wasn’t in the front yard anymore.

After he sat for a bit, getting a feel for the area, Gary took a walk to get a better perspective. He came up the street, focusing on his objective house, looking as unassuming as possible. That cop wasn’t around, either, the one who had told him where to park earlier. But that didn’t mean the fucker wasn’t still out here somewhere. After all, he had got the jump on Gary the first time they had met.

When he came close to the house, he scanned the neighborhood one more time. No one was out—another blessing from the universe. He couldn’t help but think he had actually realized his destiny. Things were working out too smoothly today.

The front yard was empty. He was about to check out the backyard when Zlo spoke up, shocking him with its vibration. “The child is here, Gary. I can sense her in this house. The time for you to take action is at hand.”

“That’s what I’m doing,” Gary said.

“You can’t accomplish anything with this frail attempt you’re making!” Zlo shouted. “Be bold, be daring, be aggressive. Get in there now and bring me my prize!”

Gary stopped and thought about it. Zlo hadn’t steered him wrong before; why would he start now? Maybe charging the bull was the best strategy. 

He walked up the short sidewalk to the front door, pulling out his buck knife, keeping it hidden as he strolled. He rang the doorbell and heard a muffled chime inside the house. Soon after came the sound of footsteps approaching. The door opened and a very attractive woman stood in the doorway with a wide smile and pleasant eyes. Before she could say a word or register what was happening, Gary grabbed her by the throat and drove her back into the house. He held her against an interior wall, knocking several hanging pictures to the floor, then violently plunged his knife into her stomach at least six times.

A childish scream rang out from the living room to his left. Gary threw the woman aside—she fell to the floor like discarded laundry—and rushed into the room where the screaming child stood. The kid tried to run, but he was too fast for her. He wrapped the butt of the buck knife against the back of her head with one strike, scooped her up under his arm and ran for the door. She was out cold, just like the other two kids he had taken this way.

This operation could not have gone any better. 

Outside, he ran for the van, which was only twenty or so yards away. The street was still empty—no neighbors, no cops, no kids, no barking dogs. He had pulled it off without a hitch. Gary still couldn’t believe it. This had to be destiny. There was no other way to describe it, just plain and simple dest—

Pain suddenly shot through his system, more shocking and violent than anything he had ever known.

FOURTEEN

Brandon Crawford sat in his room, pouring every ounce of energy and concentration into the final battle of his new favorite video game. His grandparents had given it to him the other day as an early birthday gift. They didn’t know what the game was about; they just knew it made the kid happy, and there was nothing wrong with spoiling their grandson on his birthday—or a couple days before. He loved it! Soon his mother was going to make him go with her and Sarah to that stupid yard sale in town, and he’d have to spend the day looking at old junk, but she hadn’t called up to him yet. 

He usually had his headset on, blocking out the world and playing online with his friends, but none of them had the game yet. He was flying solo. Also, mom didn’t like it when she had to call him four or five times before he’d answer. She always threatened to take the headset away when that happened. 

The end was in sight; he was so close. The final boss had just come onto the screen. All he had to do was keep firing, keep fighting, and he’d have that sucker beat. 

Suddenly, a loud crash from downstairs broke his concentration and blew his chance at victory. It sounded fierce. He’d never heard a noise like that in the house before. He listened for a moment, then heard an even worse sound. Sarah, screaming her head off. Then she went silent.

Brandon ran to the top of the steps and started down. He stopped at the terrifying sight of a man he did not recognize, carrying his little sister out the front door. She looked dead!

He froze for just a second, then snapped out of it. The guy didn’t seem to notice him on the stairs. That was his baby sis! No one was going to take his baby sis!

Only one thought came to mind after he remembered that dad’s guns were locked up and it would take too much time to get into the safe… The greatest birthday gift of all time.

Brandon pulled the wire back to the cocked position on the crossbow (the Killer Instinct, Lethal 405), loaded a single arrow into the rail, and ran his hardest down the steps and out the front door. He looked around for a second, then saw him. The guy was throwing his baby sister into a van parked just up the street.

He took a deep breath and focused on the target, just like his father had taught him while deer hunting. Putting his finger on the trigger after he had calmed his movements, he gently squeezed. The arrow flew through the spring morning air and above the paved street where he had ridden his bicycle countless times with his friends. It struck pay dirt in the man’s lower left portion of his back. The arrow protruded halfway out of him, flashing its florescent green colored fletching in the air, almost comically.

The man screamed out in pain and fell to his knees. Brandon didn’t have another arrow, but that bastard wasn’t getting away with his sister. No, sir. He ran at the van with his crossbow in hand, intending to use it as his only weapon. But the man was too fast. He had jumped into the driver's seat and pealed out with Sarah still inside. Brandon had to leap out of the way as the guy tried to run him over in a last act of revenge. 

He looked up, quickly noting the license plate number and the description of the van. When he ran back into the house to call 911, the shocking sight of his mother, laying in a pool of blood, made him scream louder than Sarah had screamed just moments ago.

FIFTEEN

The paramedics had checked out young Freddie Petroski and determined he was only suffering from mild shock. He seemed to be coming out of it on his own and didn’t warrant a trip to the hospital. Ronnie Miller had told the parents if the boy didn’t look better by morning, they should take him in for a checkup by the family physician, but he didn’t think the kid would need it. That put their minds at ease, considering.

Glen and Agent Ward took Phil Petroski aside for a word, out of ear range of his kids and the medics.

“I have to ask, Phil,” Glen said. “What all did you see?”

Phil shook his head. “Honestly, Glen, other than the body—I mean Kara—I didn’t notice anything out of place. We come here all the time; it felt like any other day.”

“Were there any vehicles in the area?” Agent Ward chimed in. “Any people you didn’t recognize? Did you pass any cars on the way through the park?”

“I’m sorry, guys, I really am,” Phil said. “But I didn’t notice a thing. No cars, no people… nothing. The park was just empty. We did get here earlier than we usually do. That’s because Ann wanted to check out the big yard sale later. Normally we come in the afternoon.” He lowered his head and took off his ball cap. “I just feel so terrible about this. We knew Kara! Hell, her son is in the same class with my boy.”

“It’s okay, Phil,” Glen said, putting his hand on the man’s shoulder. “Just keep thinking about it, buddy. If anything at all comes to mind, no matter how small, call me on my cell. I know you have the number.”

“I do, Glen. And I will, anything at all,” Phil said.

Larry Gilmore and Danny Walker had arrived in their police cruiser, lights flashing but no siren. They got out of the car and walked up to Glen, both looking nervous in their own ways. 

“What’s going on, Chief?” Larry asked. “You said there’s a possible abduction on the radio? And an attempted homicide? Really?”

“Yeah, guys,” Glen said, looking somber. “And it’s not attempted homicide, now; it’s the real thing.”

“Who was it?” Larry said. 

Glen took a deep breath, knowing what kind of response he was about to receive from the men, especially Danny. “We’ve found the body of… Kara Walker. I’m sorry, Danny.”

“Jesus Christ!” Danny Walker said. “That’s my brother’s wife!” 

“I know, Danny,” Glen said. “I’m so sorry.”

Danny stood, looking dumbfounded, unable to speak. Finally, through the many garbled thoughts that flashed in his mind, he made a sentence. “I have to tell my brother,” he said. His mouth hung open and his eyes glossed over.

“Larry, take Danny over to the cruiser. Get him some water or something,” Glen said. “The state police are on their way and should be here any minute.”

Larry did as his boss had requested, helping Danny walk on unstable legs. 

“How am I going to tell my wife?” Glen said aloud, but more to himself, as he watched his two officers walk to their car. 

“Chief Crawford!” an alarming voice broke the air, coming from Glen’s radio. “Chief Crawford, come in!” It was Lindsay at the dispatch station.

“Go ahead, Lindsay,” Glen said into the mic.

“Glen! We just got a 911 call from your son! There’s been a break-in at your house and somebody kidnapped Sarah! Your wife’s been hurt, too!”

Glen had heard some of the last part, but he was already running to his car. Agent Ward had jumped into the passenger seat a split second ahead of him. Gravel and dust flew with ferocity from the cruiser’s back tires as Glen pushed it to its limit while leaving Shawnee Lake Recreation Area #9.

SIXTEEN

The pain was enough to make him nearly pass out behind the wheel. He’d never known agony like this before. It burned and throbbed and felt like acid pouring through every muscle in his body. There was nothing Gary could compare it to, nothing he could have even imagined.

That little fucker shot him right in the back with a goddamn crossbow! Who does that kinda shit? In this day and age, what type of person pulls out a fucking crossbow? Was this the middle ages now? Have we resorted to swords and spears and arrows? Fuck!

He sat forward in the driver's seat, as far as he could, so the damn arrow sticking out of his back wouldn’t touch the back of the seat. Every time it even grazed the seat, it sent an explosion of torture pulsing throughout his body. 

It was on now! Yes, sir! That little Robin Hood motherfucker had no doubt already called 911 and given the full description of Gary’s blue van. Sure, there might have been a couple vehicles like his rolling around town today, but rest assured, the cops would search every one of them. The prick probably got the license plate, too. Yep, the shit had hit the fan and the hornet’s nest had been kicked. Gary had to think and move fast. But first he had to get back to the barn, the only place he felt safe at the moment. 

“Quite a mess you have on your hands, Mr. Elmer,” Zlo spoke up. “Quite a mess, indeed.”

“You couldn’t have warned me about that kid?” Gary yelled. “Don’t tell me you didn’t know he was there.”

Zlo laughed, but didn’t respond.

Gary pulled up to the metal gate that led into the field. It looked heavier than a battleship anchor at the moment. The arrow in his back had left him weak, and now he wasn’t even sure he had the strength left to open that rusted metal monstrosity. The Universe hadn’t given him much of a choice at the moment, though, there was no place left to go.

On the first pull, his body let him know exactly how much trouble he was in; the gate hardly budged and his body screamed out in throbbing cries of distress. He gave it another weak tug, but this time the gate yielded an inch of ground. Another tug gave him a few more inches, but he paid for those inches with horrifying grief. He continued tugging, fighting through the misery, almost to exhaustion. Finally, the mess of weeds that had hung onto the bottom rail like undead hands reaching up from the grave had given way, and the gate swung open enough to squeeze the van through. He didn’t care if the shitty thing scraped the sides and scratched the paint. If he made it out of here alive without getting caught, he would happily chuck this crapper on wheels into the bottom of a lake somewhere.

The barn doors gave him much less trouble, opening freely. He pulled the van inside and stepped out, closing the big wooden doors behind him. When the doors were secure, he let out a sigh of relief. Damn, he was in a bind right now, a real cluster. Not only was he hurt, but this town would be on high alert at any second. And soon after, you could bet your ass they’d have helicopters in the air as well. Two missing kids, taken so close together… this was FBI shit right here, boy. 

Warm liquid ran out of the wound and seeped into his pants at the front and back. The arrow had gone into his back on the left side, just below the ribs, and came out the front. Now it stuck out of him on both sides of his body. A quick flash of Steve Martin doing his stand-up routine with an arrow sticking through his head went through Gary’s mind, but did nothing to lighten his mood. 

“Action, Mr. Elmer,” Zlo said. “You are still one child short of your promised quota.”

“What?” Gary yelled into the emptiness of the barn. “Are you out of your fucking mind?”

“Mr. Elmer, this is no time to droll,” Zlo said. “Our agreement was for three. You will deliver.”

“You’re as funny as a bag of rubber dicks, buddy,” Gary said. “This grand adventure is over!”

Zlo’s vibrations had changed. Gary wasn’t sure what was going on, but he felt an unusual sensation emanating from within. Then his arm moved, but he didn’t will it to. The other arm moved, but again, he had no control over it. His body walked. Gary tried to stop himself, but it was no use. Everything was happening independently of his thoughts and he couldn’t stop it. He tried to speak, but there was no muscle available for him to use. He was just a bystander now, with a front-row seat to whatever his body did next.

But it wasn’t simply his body acting of its own volition; these weren’t random muscle spasms. Gary understood exactly what was happening here. Zlo had taken control. It had done this once before, at the bar where it had used his body to slaughter all those bikers. After that incident, the entity had said it would only be a spectator in this “grand adventure,” that it wouldn’t intervene again, but things had changed now. 

Agonizing pain gushed out of him from the midsection, more than he’d ever thought a human body could tolerate. Zlo had ripped the arrow out, pulling it from the front, wrenching it all the way through. Gary actually felt the plastic fletching rip through his internal organs. He glimpsed the arrow hitting the ground after Zlo had discarded it. There were small chunks of meat caught in the fletching. Gary knew if he was in control of his body, he would have passed out cold on the spot, or at the very least, thrown up. But he no longer held the reins. Whatever would happen next was far from his control.

“The time has come to part with you, Mr. Elmer,” Zlo said aloud, using Gary’s vocal cords to make the sound. 

Hearing his own voice speak words he hadn’t meant to say frightened Gary. 

“You simply aren’t capable of progressing on with our grand adventure, as I had hoped,” Zlo continued. “Though I will need you for a moment longer. My intention for this despicable place has not wavered considering your recent inadequacies. And don’t worry, all you have to do—all you can do, actually—is watch.”

Gary did watch as his body opened the barn doors and ran across the field into the woods. The horrendous pain from the arrow wound was still there, and he felt every bit of it, but there was nothing he could do. He was at the mercy of the entity. God only knew what was about to happen next.

SEVENTEEN

Sirens blared and official vehicles raced through town, causing everyone at the festivities around the square to stop what they were doing and watch in a unified moment of concern. This was rare indeed for Cumberland Springs. Occasionally you might hear the ambulance taking a patient to the hospital in an emergency, or the volunteer fire alarm going off when someone let a trash fire get too high, but never anything like this. Police cars, ambulances, firetrucks… something terrible had caused all of this commotion.

“Looks like hell is breaking loose,” Reverend Allen said. He and Lauren and Clay were driving by the town square in the reverend’s car. All of them nervously watched (Lauren with her hands over her mouth). “I hope this has nothing to do with the feeling you’re having, Lauren.”

She hoped for the same thing, but knew in her heart her intuition most likely had something to do with it. 

“What do you think?” Reverend Allen said. “Should we chase the ambulances, so to speak?”

Lauren thought for a moment. “I don’t think that’s the way, Reverend,” she said. “But whatever I felt last night definitely has come through here at some point. It’s like it left a filthy residue everywhere it went.”

She couldn’t see it like tracks in the dirt or wet footprints in the sand, but she could feel where it had been. It was unexplainable, almost like walking into a room and getting a bad vibe from the place, but not understanding why. Was she somehow tuned into a frequency that others couldn’t receive? There had to be some explanation for this—other than she might be losing her mind. But for now, the only thing she could do was go with it, open her mind, let the senses take over, and see where it leads.

“That way,” Lauren finally said, pointing to the left. “It feels stronger in that direction.”

Without question, Reverend Allen made a left and took the street she had pointed to. He’d had a feeling of his own about this whole situation, coming from his internal compass. It had told him to trust Lauren, no matter what; do it without question. That word of knowledge had come to him early when he’d woke up to take the morning wiz. It had hit him out of the blue while his mind was still in a waking fog. The first cognizant thought of the day was about Lauren Rivers and her sense that something evil had entered their domain. His duty was to follow her, no questions asked.

The reverend drove, gazing around with wide, sharp eyes, on the lookout for even the slightest abnormality in the landscape. His beating heart added to the excitement of the moment. They were hunting evil like God’s Holy Avengers. How amazing to be called to serve the Lord in this capacity. He was put on earth to do whatever God asked of him, even if it was a simple task like mopping the floors at the community center or picking up garbage along the road. He was here to serve. But chasing evil? Now that’s where the real juice was.

They headed up Broad Street and into the picturesque neighborhoods of Cumberland Springs. Something definitely did not feel right about this place. These streets were always warm and comfortable to pass through with their delightful old houses and perfectly landscaped yards. But today was different. Today the place felt like an invisible black sludge had fallen over the tree-lined streets and adorable homes. Lauren sensed this so intensely she could almost see it. A darkness had taken hold here, and with every inch of ground they gained, the foreboding had increased right along with them.

“We’re getting close,” Lauren said. “Turn right at the stop sign.”

Within moments, they were heading out of town on Martin road. There was nothing out this way besides over grown fields that hadn’t been used in ages. The township didn’t even bother to plow or salt this stretch of road in the winter; why waste the materials?

“Keep going?” Reverend Allen asked.

Lauren was shaking now, terrified.

“Babe?” Clay said from the back seat. “You ok?” He could tell she was about to have another episode like the ones she’d had after a nightmare. Her face and demeanor were exactly the same. He touched his wife’s shoulder and felt her trembling.

“My goodness,” Reverend Allen said, looking over at Lauren. “Lauren, dear, what’s wrong?” He slowed the car to a stop in the middle of the road.

She looked ahead in a dead stare, not answering Clay or the reverend. Her eyes fixed on the road ahead. She had gone into a trance-like state. Her body was still in the front passenger seat, but Lauren Rivers appeared to be a thousand miles away from here. 

Reverend Allen looked back at Clay, and Clay returned the same confused look. “Maybe we should turn around?” the reverend said. “Let’s take a break from all this.”

“Yeah,” Clay agreed. “This is getting kinda spooky.”

“It’s up there,” Lauren said, her voice a monotone, lifeless expression. She raised her left hand and pointed straight ahead.

After a nervous swallow and a deep breath, Reverend Allen put the car back in gear and slowly continued up Martin Road.

Five minutes had passed, and Lauren’s state had not changed. She looked similar to a broken mannequin, frozen in an indifferent pose and discarded to the dark basement of an old department store. Her condition scared Clay and the reverend. They didn’t like this at all, and both were only a few seconds from pulling the plug on the operation all together. 

Reverend Allen was the first to see it. Before Lauren spoke, he knew exactly what she was about to say. Running right through the middle of an overgrown field was a sign. Something—most certainly a vehicle—had tamped down the tall grass, beginning at an old rusted gate by the road and ending at an abandoned barn sitting on a hill. Vines and overgrowth nearly covered the structure completely. She was about to tell them what they were looking for was in that barn, which just happened to be the most frightening place in this area. 

“There,” Lauren said, pointing at the barn.

EIGHTEEN

The FBI has specific tactics for approaching a house, especially one that might be hot. Kicking the door down with guns blazing is only the last act. First, they must gain intelligence about the situation inside. Next, level heads make decisions based on the intel, then come up with a solution that will yield the best reasonable outcome. It’s a scientific method that comes from years of studying countless situations and analyzing the results. The plans created from these studies achieve the highest rates of success and the lowest rates of casualties. This is part of the textbook the FBI lives by.

On the drive from Shawnee Lake to Chief Crawford’s house, Agent Ward knew none of the tactics he’d learned and implemented over the years of his career would be in use today. Emotion was at the forefront of the chief now. His family was in trouble, and nothing else in the world mattered. A systemic tactical advance on the house was definitely off the table.

Something in Ward’s sub conscience had told him to keep his mouth shut. Logic told him he should try to talk some sense into Chief Crawford instead of letting him rush headfirst into a situation, but his heart had advised differently. Just lay back and cover; that’s all he should do. There wasn’t a word of logic Ward could speak that this man would hear right now. Part of him didn’t blame the guy, either. With his niece, Katie, Ward had lost mostly all of his control, allowing pure emotion to take over his judgment. It wasn’t his place to intervene at the moment. 

Just as Ward had thought, the second they pulled up in front of the house, the chief rushed the front door and barreled inside like a linebacker. He didn’t even pull his service weapon. Agent Ward, however, pulled his and backed the chief from behind.

When Glen entered the house, the shocking sight on the floor of the hallway nearly took the life out of him. Vickie lay on the hardwood with her head propped up against the wall. Brandon knelt over her, holding several blood soaked towels on her stomach with pressure. Blood was everywhere. It almost looked as if they had repainted the inside of the house with dark crimson. 

Vickie’s face said it all when Glen knelt beside her and Brandon; she was terrified. 

Brandon cried and held the towels to her stomach like he’d learned in Red Cross first aid class at school. He was as coated in blood as his mother. 

“Vickie! Baby! My God!” Glen cried. The sight of his wife in this condition destroyed him. His world lay on the hallway floor, fading out of his hands right before his eyes. He didn’t know what the wounds under the towels looked like, but with this amount of blood, his imagination filled in the blanks. 

Agent Ward secured the house room by room like the professional he was, sweeping the place with his firearm held at eye level, leaving no stone unturned. He found nothing.

Vickie smiled at her husband. “It’s not as bad as it looks,” she said, coughing and wincing in pain. 

“Don’t talk, baby,” Glen said. “The ambulance is on its way.” He looked at Brandon. “What happened, son?”

Brandon was still crying, but pulled himself together enough to speak. “A man broke in and attacked mom with a knife.” He paused, knowing his next statement was going to send his father over the edge. “Dad… he took Sarah.”

“What!” Glen shouted. 

Agent Ward stood a few feet away from them. “Can you give me a description?” 

Brandon shook his head. “Yeah. He’s thin and has long hair and a scruffy face. He was wearing blue jeans and a white t-shirt.”

“Which way did he go?” Ward asked. 

“He threw Sarah into the back of a blue van,” Brandon said. “License plate GMS-188. I didn’t see what state the plate was from.”

“Good work, son,” Glen said. “You did great!”

Vickie looked at her son and smiled. In a weak voice she said: “Tell your father what else you did.”

Glen looked at his son. “What?”

Brandon looked down, nervously. “I… I shot him in the back with my crossbow.”

Glen’s face was both shocked and ecstatic as he looked at his son. “You did what?” he said, almost laughing.

“I shot him with the bow,” Brandon said. 

“Did you hit him?” Agent Ward asked.

“Yeah, I hit him,” Brandon said. “Right in the lower back. He went down for a second, then jumped in the van and took off. The arrow was still sticking out of him.”

Glen grabbed his son and hugged him. He kissed the top of Brandon’s head. “You did good, buddy. I’m so proud of you!”

Agent Ward called the state police and gave the description of the van and the license plate. He also gave Brandon’s description of the assailant, adding that the man may still have an arrow sticking out of his back. If not, he is definitely wounded. 

Sirens in the distance became louder as they approached the house. The ambulance would arrive any second.

“Glen,” Vickie said through the pain. “He has our daughter. You have to go.”

While looking at his wife in her current condition, Glen’s emotions took over. Images of the day he put his football jacket over her shoulders in high school flashed through his head. The look on her face at that moment, how it had changed from simple joking around to something more, something that had sparked a feeling inside him he had never known until that moment. That same feeling which would erupt in him every time he looked into her eyes or stared at her from across the room. She was his world. How could this be happening right now?

“Honey, go,” Vickie said. “Go now!” She looked up at Brandon. “Don’t worry about me. I have my guardian angel.”

The paramedics entered the front door, and Glen got out of the way to let them work. He stood watching, feeling a helplessness he’d never known. 

“Let’s go, Chief,” Agent Ward said, placing his hand on Glen’s shoulder. “Let’s find your daughter.”

Glen looked at Ward. He felt a sudden confidence. This man was a bloodhound, a trained hunter who had skills and knowledge that would bring his daughter back home safe. And thanks to Brandon, that piece of shit should leave a trail of blood easy enough for anyone to find.

NINTEEN

The situation today felt eerily similar to active combat. There was a tension in the air, verging on panic (the woman in the woods with half her guts ripped out might have had a lot to do with it). Devon couldn’t help but think about the desert and his Marines and the hell they had faced together. But he didn’t break down or lose control over it. His mind had alerted him it was time for business; nothing else mattered at the moment. There was a job at hand requiring professionals to solve the problem, which is exactly what he and Ronnie and even Ed Martin were. They were professionals.

Something was going on here today, though, something terrible. Besides the dead woman at the lake, they were now being called to another stabbing, and this one was at the home of the police chief. Was a maniac on the loose in Cumberland Springs? What else could account for all the mayhem? Hell, the FBI was already here, too. 

Ronnie looked at Devon as they sat in the back of the ambulance, roaring through the streets of their quiet little town with the siren blaring its deafening scream. Devon looked back, but neither knew what to say. This didn’t feel like a moment for words.

Tires screeched to a halt as Ed Martin stopped the ambulance in front of the house. The chief’s police cruiser was idling in the middle of the street with both doors open, and a small crowd of neighbors had gathered outside (the neighbors had considerately kept the lane open for the medics to enter the house). 

Before going inside, Devon slowed his pace. Something was wrong. A disgusting feeling emanated like toxic fog, seeping out from all the doors and windows of the charming little house. Ronnie seemed unfazed or unaware of it, but not Devon. He had picked up on it from clear out in the street. He’d already known a terrible event had taken place here today—the reason for the call—but there was more to it. He felt like the house was spoiled somehow, like something rotten had been here and defiled the place with its mere presence. 

Ronnie had already entered through the front door. Devon swallowed his apprehension about the environment and followed his partner. Inside, the woman on the floor looked every bit as bad as the one they had just seen at the lake. But this one was still alive and talking, which was an excellent sign. 

Chief Crawford and the FBI Agent they had met at the lake were both inside the house. “Take good care of my wife, guys,” the chief said. He was visibly—and understandably—shaken. He and the FBI guy took off shortly after.

The medics did everything by the book to stabilize Mrs. Crawford before loading her into the ambulance. Her wounds were critical; there wasn’t a second to spare. 

“Want to ride upfront in the ambulance?” Ronnie said to Brandon, who watched them work with wide, frightened eyes. 

Brandon shook his head, yes, but didn’t speak.

“Don’t worry, buddy,” Devon said. “Your mom’s going to be fine.” He had told many Marines this same thing, as he had applied pressure to their spouting wounds and missing limbs. It seemed like the only thing to say in a moment of despair. Most of the time, he didn’t believe the statement.

TWENTY

“Lord, give us strength,” Reverend Allen said as he and Clay Rivers slowly walked through the overgrown field. A grasshopper landed on his chest, nearly causing him to scream. 

Walking up to an old barn on a nice spring day shouldn’t have given either of them cause for concern, but today was different. Both men were running at peak intensity levels. There was no denying Lauren’s feelings, which had brought them here today. The look on her face alone when they pulled up next to this field was enough to scare the shit out of anyone. Something was in here; that they were sure of. But its intentions were another story all together. 

They followed the tamped down grass, made recently by a large vehicle. There shouldn’t be anyone out here. This property had fallen into the hands of the state years ago and no one has had an interest in it since, probably because of all the legends attached to it. Everybody knew the old Martin barn was haunted, or so they say in whispered voices at Halloween parties. Someone might pick the place up for a steal, if they could forget about the mystique surrounding it. 

Halfway between the barn and the rusted pasture gate, Clay looked back at Lauren, who was leaning against the car with her arms folded. She still looked worried, but was no longer in the state of shock that had hit her while they drove up Martin Road. It still didn’t make Clay feel any better about the operation at hand. 

“Are you ready for this?” Reverend Allen said when they reached the outer doors of the barn. 

Someone had definitely been here. They had disturbed the grass and dirt where the barn doors swung open and there were fresh tire tracks from a vehicle leading into the building. Another sign of activity was apparent: footprints leading out of the barn and across the field in the opposite direction from the road. The tall grass was tamped down in a single line like someone had walked through it. The line went to the surrounding trees and disappeared into the woods. 

“I don’t like it, Reverend,” Clay said.

“I don’t either, Clay,” the reverend said, studying the size of the doors and the obvious signs of activity around the entrance. “But we can’t be afraid. We’re here for a reason right now, and neither of us can deny it.”

 With one quick motion, Reverend Allen pulled open the large double barn doors, allowing a flood of light to fill the interior.

At first, the reverend had thought someone—or something—might attack them as soon as the doors were opened. He had mentally prepared himself for it while standing outside. It looked like Clay had done the same as his fists were clinched and up, ready to defend himself. But that wasn’t the case. The only thing waiting for them inside was a crappy blue van and a large tarp covering something in the back of the building, probably old farm equipment. No monsters, no evil shadows, no psychopath with an axe… just junk. 

They relaxed with a collective sigh. The crusaders would live to fight another day.

It was immediately clear this van hadn’t been here long. A thick layer of dust had covered everything else in the building, but the van itself was clean—well, as clean as this scrap bucket could be. 

There were more signs of activity in here as well, especially footprints. They were everywhere around the van and throughout the rest of the barn. The tracks even led to the giant tarp covered object against the back wall. 

“What do you think?” Clay said. He was looking into the driver's side window of the van. It looked empty from what he could see, but the cargo area was still dark. 

“Well, somebody has been here,” Reverend Allen said. “And with everything Lauren felt that brought us to this location, I don’t mind snooping around for a bit. Doesn’t hurt to look, right?” He was focused on the big tarp and the footprints leading up to it. “Wonder what’s under there?”

Clay walked past the reverend, emboldened, now feeling a tinge of anger. He didn’t know how his wife’s strange feelings had led them to this old barn, but it came from her, and that’s all he needed. If Lauren had said it, no matter how strange or far-fetched it seemed, it was the truth. 

Grabbing the tarp with both hands, Clay used all the construction worker strength he could muster at the moment and pulled it aside with one solid yank. He fell backwards onto the ground, not because of the tarp giving way, but because of what he saw underneath. “Jesus Christ!” he yelled, just before landing on his ass in the dirt. 

Reverend Allen stepped up to help Clay, then almost fell over as well when he saw what had scared Clay so badly. There was a boy, tied to a rusted old plow, with a piece of duct tape covering his mouth. His terrified eyes were bulging and full of tears, and his screams, though muffled behind the silver tape, sounded horse and weak. The sight both scared and enraged the reverend. A child—a sweet child of God—was tied and gaged like an animal. Who could do such a vile and loathsome thing?

Rushing forward, now focusing only on the child and nothing else, Reverend Allen knelt in front of the kid and gently pulled the duct tape off his mouth. He’d had an idea of who this was when he first saw him, but after the tape came off, he was sure of it. Nolan Walker. The Walkers were part of the First Baptist Church congregation—his congregation. 

Clay cut the rope off of the boy’s hands with his pocketknife. Reverend Allen had fully removed the tape without hurting him. 

Nolan Walker, who had witnessed the brutal murder of his mother less than an hour ago and survived an ordeal no human on earth should ever have to endure, broke down in a flood of emotion, holding on to Reverend Allen with all the strength his eleven-year-old body could produce. He cried and screamed and said words that were incoherent. But he was free now, and in the arms of someone he knew and trusted. Nolan’s world would never be the same, but at least he was safe. The monster had not won the day. 

Clay stood up and looked around. He was so angry he could chew nails. He wanted to be face to face with the bastard who had done this to little Nolan. Let Clay Rivers have five minutes with the prick so he could teach him the difference between right and wrong, the old-fashioned way. He looked over at the van and hoped the fucker was sleeping in the back right now. Without a second thought, he grabbed both door handles to the cargo area and pulled them. They swung open with ease, but even if they had been locked, his force and rage could have easily ripped them off their hinges. 

He stared into the van, frozen at the sight before him. His mind didn’t want to believe it, but the eyes told him a different story. A little girl lay in the back on the hard metal floor. She wasn’t tied or gagged like the boy under the tarp, but she was definitely not here of her own free will. Her eyes were open, and she looked at Clay, but she didn’t move. Her expression was dull, like she was confused. He also noticed a dark stain had seeped into the top of her hair. She’d been struck by something, which explained the distant look on her face.

Outside in the daylight, out of the prison these two children had to endure, Clay and Reverend Allen sat them down in the tall grass. The reverend stayed with them and called 911 on his cell phone, while Clay went back inside the barn to make sure they hadn’t missed another child hidden away in this dark and terrible place. The building was empty.

TWENTY ONE

Before moving the car after he and Agent Ward had sat inside, Glen radioed his officers at the lake. Earlier, he had told Larry and Danny to stay in the parking area and make sure no one went onto the trail. Danny was distraught over the death of his sister-in-law, but told his chief he would stay on duty as long as they needed him today. He was doing his best to keep it together. 

“Larry, this is Glen. Over…” Glen said into the mic.

“Go ahead, Chief. Over…” Larry replied.

It relieved Glen to hear Larry’s voice. “Larry, I need you and Danny to block off the main road to town at Route 31. Nobody gets in or out—especially out. I don’t care what anyone tells you; no one gets out of this town until the state troopers get here. Understood? Over…”

“Got it, Chief. Nobody in or out. Over…” Larry said.

Glen paused for a moment. “How’s Danny? Over…”

“He’s hanging in there, Chief, considering. Over…”

A feeling of pride came over Glen. His officers were young and had little experience dealing with crisis situations (had there ever really been a crisis in this town in recent years?), but they were doing their jobs, holding fast at their posts, waiting for the next set of orders. There wasn’t anything more he could ask of them. “Ok, Larry, thanks. Get that road block set up quick. Oh, and if you see a blue van, don’t let it out of your sight, and call for backup immediately. Understood? Over…”

“Understood, Chief. Over…”

Glen looked at Agent Ward, who was on his phone. He was relaying the description of the van, the license plate, and the asshole responsible for all of this to someone in official channels. 

Two thoughts came to Glen’s mind: one, he hoped the prick still had Brandon’s arrow sticking out of his back and was dying right now in agonizing pain; two, he thanked God that Agent Ward just happened to be in town today. This was the biggest situation Glen had ever had to handle. Having a seasoned FBI Agent working right next to him was a blessing he could never have imagined. 

After putting the car in gear, Glen hit the siren and lights and headed out toward Turkey Foot Road. There were only two ways in and out of Cumberland Springs, the main turn off from Route #31 (the road didn’t have an actual name), and Turkey Foot, the less traveled back way. Larry and Danny were guarding the main road, so Glen headed for the back. In his mind, he thought the bastard might try to slip out the back way, which is exactly why he wanted to be there waiting.

“You’re heading to Turkey Foot?” Agent Ward asked.

“How did you know?” Glen replied.

Agent Ward held up his phone, showing glen the Google map of Cumberland Springs. “It’s the only other way out of town.”

“You’re pretty good, Ward,” Glen said. 

They had just passed the neighborhood streets, heading out into the rural part of town, when the car radio squelched and Lindsay’s excited voice broke in. “Glen! Glen! Dispatch. Over…”

He grabbed the mic. “Go ahead dispatch. Over…”

“We just got a 911 call from Reverend Allen of First Baptist Church. He’s found two children inside of the old Martin barn, just now… Glen, one of them is Sarah! Over…”

Glen was afraid to ask for the next piece of information which Lindsay had neglected to add. “Are they alive?” he said, gravely.

“Yes, Chief, they’re both alive! Over…” She didn’t sound like a police dispatcher at this point, but rather a high school girl excited over being asked to the prom.

No more information was necessary. The preacher from his church had found his daughter in the old Martin barn and she was alive. That’s all Glen needed to know. He turned the car around and headed for Martin Road. There should have been a feeling of relief from this new information, but it hadn’t come yet. Perhaps a part of him still didn’t believe it. That would probably change as soon as he had Sarah in his arms and he saw for himself that she was alright. 

The old Martin barn. It didn’t hit Glen until they were almost there. Lucas Rolley. This was the place where they had found the body of his childhood friend all those years ago. The little shit had gone out there alone, chasing a ghost, and wound up dying of fright. Something had scared him to death in that barn. Had the kid actually found what he was looking for and lost his life to it? The question remained in the back of Glen’s mind ever since that terrible night when his father came into his room and solemnly said, “I’m sorry, son, I have some bad news.” And didn’t Agent Ward, the man seated next to him right now, mention Lucas’s name when he was here last November? Yes, he did. He had tried to say Hanson Parker had started his reign of terror right here in Cumberland Springs, and Lucas was his first victim. Glen didn’t believe it then and still didn’t subscribe to it now. He shook the thought out of his mind. The only thing that mattered now was getting his daughter safe and getting back to his wife and son at the hospital. The details could wait for another time.

TWENTY TWO

At 10:30 AM, as the sirens had passed and all the commotion around town had seemed to die down for the moment, Ron Dzerbeck got back to cutting his grass. The recent clamor had made him put his plans for the yard on hold for a bit, in case there was something seriously bad happening in the area. It seemed like they had it all sorted out for now. Ron felt comfortable getting back to his task for the day, though it certainly was odd hearing chaos like that in Cumberland Springs. His wife would probably find out all about it from her gossip group and fill him in later; she always did.

It was the perfect day for yard work—sunny, warm, a light breeze in the air. This was the kind of day Ron looked forward to. He’d spend the entire day outside, work on his landscaping (which he was uniquely proud of), grill some burgers later, then have a few beers while sitting on the front porch with his wife Loraine. Could there be a more perfect day? Ron Dzerbeck didn’t think so. 

He ran through all the basic checks with the mower, from the spark plug and air filter to the sharpness of the blade and finally the gas. It was in great shape, cleaned up and ready to go. 

Just before he made the first pull to start the engine, something caught the corner of his eye: a quick movement that looked out of place, coming from the neighbor’s yard. He had seen the O’Neil’s earlier this morning, getting ready to walk over to the big yard sale in town (the square was only a few blocks away). Maybe they had come home already. Or perhaps it was one of their kids? They didn’t have either of the two boys with them when they walked up the street. 

Ron waited for a moment, then shrugged it off. Nothing to be concerned about. 

“Don’t forget to drink water, hun!” Loraine called out from the porch. She liked to remind him of every little detail. She was probably right to do so since Ron had a habit of forgetting things lately, ever since he had turned seventy. It wasn’t so much a lack of memory as it was simply having his mind on other things. And Loraine didn’t care; she enjoyed watching out for her husband’s wellbeing. 

This time, the out-of-place movement in the O’Neil’s yard was more than just a quick flash of something; he actually saw what it was. There was a guy skulking around their yard. He had just snuck around back. Ron didn’t get a good look at him, but from what he saw, he could tell the man was way out of place. He had undoubtedly never seen this person around here before. 

Ron went up to the fence separating his yard from the O’Neil’s and stood concealed beside a large bush. He watched, silently. An odd feeling came over him he hadn’t experienced in years. It was unexplainable, but he had definitely felt it before. He didn’t like it at all. Something was wrong in the world now, and all his senses were letting him know it. 

The man suddenly came around from the back side of the house and into view. Now Ron was sure of it; this person was not a local. And was that blood on his shirt and pants?

The guy peered into a window on the lower floor of the O’Neil’s house. Ron became frightfully nervous. A man in blood-soaked clothes was about to break into his beloved neighbor’s house, and Ron was almost positive the kids were still at home. Those two innocent boys were like grandchildren to him; he’d be damned if he was going to let anything happen to them. 

There was no more time to think or to watch. The guy had just popped out the window screen and slipped into the house.

TWENTY THREE

The damn thing looked as nightmarish as it did the last time Glen had come out here. What a curse this old barn was. Martin Road didn’t lead anywhere except to a dead end out in the woods, and the Martin farm hadn’t actually been a working establishment since the 1950s. The house had burned down sometime in the 60s. All that remained was that shitty old barn atop a small hill in an overgrown field. There were hundreds of rumors about the barn and the farm and the Martin family (who were all long since dead), tales of ghosts and evil spirits and such. A run down old place like this should have been the perfect hangout for teenagers sneaking beer or just needing a place to call their own, but no one bothered with it. Maybe there really was something to all the ghost stories? Glen’s reason for staying away was Lucas. His friend had met his end in this place; he didn’t need to know anymore than that. He’d secretly hoped over the years that someone would just burn the cursed thing down already and be done with it. 

He parked behind Reverend Allen’s car, which was still idling in the middle of the road with the doors open. Glen got out of his car and looked up at the old barn across the field. Two people were standing in front of it, waving their arms, signaling him to come their way. 

He ran through the field, hurrying to his daughter, but still cautious not to step in a groundhog hole and break his ankle. Ward followed with the same watchful steps. 

“Glen, thank God,” Reverend Allen said as Glen approached. He was in front of the barn with Lauren and Clay Rivers. 

The feeling of relief he had waited for had finally washed over him like a baptism. Sarah was alive. She was sitting on Lauren’s lap in front of the barn. When Sarah saw her father, she held up her arms and puffed out her bottom lip. He picked up his daughter and held her and kissed her forehead, and thanked God for giving them a second chance. There would be a lot more praying ahead when they got back to the hospital where Vickie was undoubtedly in the trauma unit, but for the moment, a blessing had come to him, making him rejoice with all his heart.

Agent Ward stepped past everyone and went into the barn. The first thing he saw was the van. The license plate matched exactly with the number Brandon had given them. He continued looking through the van and the barn, careful not to touch anything—that would be for a crime lab to deal with later—until he was satisfied the structure was clear.

After Glen had settled, and the tears subsided, he put Sarah down and looked her over. The first thing he noticed was the knot on the back of her head and her bloodstained hair. That son of a bitch had hit her!

“I think she has a mild concussion,” Lauren said. “And she’s still in shock. We need to get her to the hospital quickly. Nolan is in the same condition, I’m afraid. We need to hurry.”

“Can I ask what led you all out here today?” Agent Ward said, stepping out of the barn. His tone was stern, but not asshole.

Clay and Lauren looked at each other but didn’t speak. 

Reverend Allen smiled and looked at Agent Ward. “Son, I don’t know you, but I can say for certain you wouldn’t believe us.”

“Why don’t you try me, sir?” Ward said. 

Glen stood up and let Sarah stand on her own, though he still held her hand. “It’s okay, Agent,” Glen said, signaling he’d handle the conversation. 

With his hand on Glen’s shoulder, Reverend Allen smiled and said, “Glen, I know you probably already think from my Sunday sermons that I’m as crazy as a shit-house rat. And even if you don’t, what I’m about to tell you might sway you in that direction.”

“I don’t think you’re crazy, Reverend,” Glen said.

“Okay, here goes,” the reverend said. “We came out here today chasing down a hunch. Lauren has been suffering from nightmares and premonitions of dreadful things about to happen. She’d had a feeling something evil had entered town last night, so today we went out to look for it. Believe it or not, it was her intuition that led us to this barn. She felt the evil was here. And as you can see, well, there’s no denying she was correct.”

“Are you telling me a feeling led you all out here?” Agent Ward said to Lauren.

She shook her head in agreement. 

Ward’s first instinct was to dismiss this whole thing; it wasn’t grounded in logic. But neither was anything that had happened to him this past week. Voices on recordings, nightmares, people who weren’t there telling him to go to Cumberland Springs. Hearing that a feeling had led someone to a remote location that just saved the lives of two children wasn’t so far-fetched anymore. 

“It’s still here,” Lauren said, causing everyone to go silent and look at her. “This isn’t over.”

Reverend Allen walked over to Lauren. “Can you feel it?”

She shook her head.

“We have to find it,” Reverend Allen said to the group. “We can’t delay!”

Glen picked up his daughter. “I’m taking these kids to the hospital. Can you go with the reverend?” he said, looking at Agent Ward. “I could really use your help today.”

Ward looked unsure. Almost every part of him wanted to say this was all bullshit. This woman’s psychic compass wouldn’t lead them anywhere except on a daytime snipe hunt. But a smaller, more unrealized portion of his conscience nudged at him, telling him this was undeniably an avenue he needed to follow. 

“Okay, fine,” Ward said. “I’ll ride with you people.” His head wasn’t on board with the decision, but there weren’t any other options at the moment.

TWENTY FOUR

This wasn’t the first time Tim and Kelly O’Neil had let the boys stay home without supervision, although Kelly wasn’t completely sold on the idea. Tim had thought giving them small amounts of responsibility would help them grow into adults. Kelly didn’t like the thought of them growing up at all. But they were only going to be a few blocks away at the town square, looking at whatever junk people were selling today; they wouldn’t be gone long.

Thomas loved the idea of being unsupervised, not that he had planned on doing anything he couldn’t do while his parents were around. It was the thought of being unattended that excited him. And they had put him in charge of the house and his little brother, too, granting him authority. Leadership felt good; it worked for him. James didn’t give a shit. All that mattered to him was they let him stay home from that stupid yard sale and play video games.

The boys had set up their beanbag gaming chairs on the floor in the family room and got down to business in front of the big seventy inch TV. They had their snacks, sodas, and mom’s emergency phone all within reach. The time had come to conquer the galaxy, one space ship at a time. 

This was great! Just two guys blowing the crap out of a bunch of aliens and enjoying a bag of Doritos and a couple cans of Coke. What more could anyone ask for?

Boom! Thomas had just launched a direct hit into the mother ship, causing him to cheer out loud. He didn’t notice at first that his brother had fallen forward off of his game chair, landing on his face. But when he did, a shocking jolt ran through him like a power surge. James was out cold. 

Thomas shook his brother. “James, you okay? James? Wake up, James!”

It was no use. James was down for the count.

As Thomas reached for his mother’s emergency cell phone, he saw it—him—out of the corner of his eye. He screamed when he realized what it was. There was a scary-looking man standing behind them, covered in blood. He looked like every sadistic killer from every horror movie Thomas had ever seen—without his parents knowing, of course.

The man lunged, but Thomas reacted quickly. He rolled out of the way and scampered out of the family room as fast as he could. A hand—the psychopath’s hand—grabbed his ankle and tripped him up, causing him to roll on the hallway floor. The next thing Thomas felt was the crazy man on top of him. How was he so fast? Thomas had thought for sure he’d be able to escape once he made it to the hallway, but that wasn’t the case at all. 

“No!” Thomas yelled. “Please, no! Help!”

The man had a knife.

TWENTY FIVE

There was no time to call the police, no time to grab the Colt .45 he kept in the nightstand drawer in the upstairs bedroom, no time for anything else but action. Ron Dzerbeck understood full well that he was a seventy-year-old man with a seventy-year-old body, but it didn’t mean there wasn’t still a little fight left in him. Sure, it would have been exponentially better if he could have armed himself before confronting the shit-head who had just broken into the O’Neil’s house, but that wasn’t an option at the moment. He had to act right now!

He ran into the O’Neil’s yard and onto the front porch. As he dashed up the three steps, he heard a terrible noise confirming all of his suspicions: one of the boys inside was screaming. Ron thought about kicking in the door, but a small glimmer of rationality told him to try the knob first. It was unlocked!

The door opened on an appalling sight. The man he had seen climbing through the first-floor window was now on top of young Thomas O’Neil, pinning him down and holding what looked like a hunting knife in the air above him. Thomas was doing his best to escape, but the man was much too powerful for him.

Ron didn’t hesitate a second longer, nor did he yell or try to use his words. Instead, he reared his right leg back and kicked the son of a bitch in the face with everything he had. It wasn’t a finishing blow, but it sufficed to get the bastard off of Thomas, enough that the boy could squirm out from under his grasp. Thomas sprung to his feet then ran through the front door, screaming into the neighborhood.

Taking a step back, but still standing his ground, Ron prepared himself for what he understood would come next. He’d have to defend himself, and he knew it wouldn’t be easy. The guy was at least thirty years younger, maybe more, and he looked to be in pretty good shape, too, plus he had a knife. Ron realized what kind of trouble he was in at the moment, but it was worth it. Thomas was safe; he’d hoped the same for little James, as well. And this wasn’t the first time Ron Dzerbeck had been in a situation like this, so he wasn’t out of the game just yet.

The man stood up and smiled a wicked grin. Ron’s face went white and his body trembled uncontrollably. It couldn’t be. This face looking back at him, those eyes. It wasn’t possible. All these years later… NO!

“Well, well, well,” the deranged man said through a giant, fiendish smile. “I see the boy inside the man. How poetic we meet again under similar circumstances.”

Ron’s heart threatened to explode behind his ribcage. He had only known fear like this one other time in his life, which felt every bit as horrendous as this very moment. It was the eyes; they were unmistakable. This was not the first time he had looked into these eyes and saw what dwelled behind them.

“You’ve aged well,” the man said. 

Now it was more than the eyes. His voice, his smile, his demeanor… Ron didn’t understand how, but he was never more sure of anything. This man was Harlan Wallace.

Fifty-seven years ago, Harlan Wallace had broken into Ron’s family home and killed his father, mother, and two sisters—massacred them like animals. The attack was beyond inhumane; it was demonic. A human being could not have acted the way Harlan Wallace did the night he cut Ron’s family to pieces while they screamed in terror, gurgling in their own blood. Those screams have haunted him ever since. 

He had ended Wallace’s reign with his father’s twelve-gauge shotgun, and the bastard died in the hospital later that night; that was a fact. But Ron knew with all certainty that the man who stood before him now was, without a doubt, the man who stood before him on that dreadful night in 1964.

“You’re… yo—” Ron tried to swallow, but his throat wouldn’t allow it. “You’re dead!”

The man smiled. “You cannot kill what doesn’t live, young man.” He erupted in loud, sadistic laughter. 

Ron’s body had turned to a cold granite statue, just like the one that resided over his family’s gravesite at Belle Hill Cemetery and their monument in the church yard at First Baptist. He could not move or flinch or even breathe. Fear had replaced every other sense in his body, and now he was at the mercy of Harlan Wallace. 

“As much as I would love to stay and reminisce about old times with you,” the man said. “I have important business to attend to elsewhere. Best of luck to you, young sir.” The man walked away into the family room, completely indifferent to Ron. 

A moment later, Ron heard the backdoor of the house open and close.

TWENTY SIX

“Where to?” Reverend Allen said, looking at Lauren in the passenger seat. 

She looked nervous, like she’d been handed a gun but had never held one before. “Well,” Lauren said, swallowing through her dry mouth. “I think maybe back toward town?”

Agent Ward watched the exchange from the back seat. Clay Rivers sat next to him. Ward had no confidence that these people knew what they were doing or where they were going. They were supposedly relying on “feelings” or some shit like that. Feelings… sure, that’ll work. He didn’t like this at all. None of these people were police officers or had any experience in law enforcement. How were they going to track a fugitive based on “feelings?”

Speaking of feelings, though, Ward had had one earlier at the barn, which he had tucked away and tried his best to ignore. But now that he was in the car with her, he couldn’t help but think about it. When he and Chief Crawford had first arrived at the barn, and he saw Lauren Rivers tending to the chief’s daughter, a feeling came over him he couldn’t explain. He ruled out simple attraction, although she was beautiful. No, there was something about her he couldn’t help but notice. Call it a familiarity, to put it vaguely. He felt as though she was someone he was supposed to find. It wasn’t important now; there was a fugitive on the loose and all of his mental focus and ability was needed for that problem first. But he would need to examine this further at some point.

“I think it came through here,” Lauren said when they arrived at the town square. The yard sale was in full swing. Tables were crowded with bargain hunters, food trucks and barbecue pits were giving off heavenly aromas, and the Laurel Jazz Band was just getting set up in the gazebo. These people did not know that evil was in their midst.

“Right through town?” Reverend Allen asked. 

“Well, no, not here exactly,” Lauren said. “But close, like in one of the neighborhoods, maybe? I don’t know. I can just tell it’s close. My skin is crawling!”

“Okay,” Reverend Allen said, letting out a deep breath. “There are four neighborhoods that butt up to the center of town. Do you have any idea where to start, Lauren?”

She looked around, unsure of anything at the moment. Nothing was coming to her. It was as if the thing was everywhere. It had tainted this entire region with its filth without missing an inch of ground. She opened the car door and stepped out. After walking a few steps, she turned to her left, looking directly through the center of town. “The East End,” Lauren said. “I feel more sadness coming from that direction, the same feeling that led me toward the barn.”

Ward got out of the car and looked in the direction Lauren had pointed out. All he could see was a rather large event going on in the center of town. Nothing looked unusual. Then again, there were a lot of people from out of town in the area today. “Is he here?” Ward said to Lauren.

“No,” she replied. “On the other side of town, in the East End neighborhood.”

“Come on,” Reverend Allen said from the driver's seat. “There’s no time to waste!”

They got back inside the car and the reverend drove for the neighborhood Lauren pointed out. The church and his house were on that side of town. 

When the reverend turned onto Brown Street, Lauren’s face went pale, and she trembled and sweat. She didn’t speak. 

Reverend Allen stopped the car in the middle of the street and took it out of gear. He looked at Lauren. “Is it here?” he asked nervously.

Lauren slowly shook her head yes.

The back door opened and Agent Ward stepped out into the street. He looked around, not seeing anything out of place.

The others followed Ward’s lead and exited the car.

“Lets fan out and slowly walk around,” Ward said. “Call out if you see something.” He looked at Lauren. It was now driving him crazy, this feeling he had about her. It wasn’t natural. Something was compelling him to watch over her, to protect her even, if necessary. He hated whatever this was, not wanting to be ruled or driven by emotion. 

The group spread out around the car and looked, moving slowly as they went. Everything was quiet at first… until all hell broke loose.

TWENTY SEVEN

The police cruiser sped through town, but without lights or sirens. Glen knew there had been enough excitement in the downtown area today already. He didn’t need to add more concern to the air. And with the event and all the additional people in town, a panic was the last thing he needed. Though he wanted nothing more than to blare that siren and floor the accelerator all the way to the hospital. Not only did his daughter and young Nolan Walker need attention, but his wife Vickie might be hanging on for dear life up there right now. It took all he had to maintain control. 

He parked the cruiser in the police space, close to the emergency room entrance. On his way over, he had radioed Lindsay at the station and told her to call the hospital to ready them for his arrival. It might have been a little overkill, but this was his daughter who needed attention. He didn’t mind using his official capacity to get her in the door in a hurry. 

When the hospital staff saw him pull up, they wasted no time bringing out two gurneys for both children. Glen followed them inside and watched as the staff took over. 

“Daddy will be right over here,” he said to Sarah, kissing her forehead. She had said little since he had found her, but her facial expressions just about destroyed his heart. She was hurt and traumatized and all he could do now was let the medical people take over. “You be strong, pumpkin. I have to go check on mommy. I’ll be right back.”

Glen headed to the nurse’s station, but Doctor Philips, the ER doc on duty, stopped him. “Chief,” the doctor said. “A word, over here, please.” He ushered Glen out of the ER and into a quiet hallway. “Chief, I tended to your wife when they brought her in.”

“Where is she?” Glen asked. His face was pale with nerves.

“She’s in surgery right now,” Doctor Philips said. 

His shoulders drooped, and he felt like a child who had just lost a balloon in the summer sky. “How bad is it?” Glen asked. 

“I’ll give it to you straight,” the doctor said. “She has lost a considerable amount of blood and has extensive organ damage. I can’t give you much more than that because all I could do was get her stabilized for surgery. I will say that the stab wounds hit mainly in the lower region, which is good, considering.”

“She’ll make it, though, right?” Glen asked. 

“She’s with the best surgeons we have,” the doctor said. “Worst case, if they can’t help her, we’ll Life Flight her to Pittsburgh or Harrisburg. I haven’t heard a helicopter yet, so that’s a good sign.”

“Where’s my boy?” Glen asked. 

“I’ll have a nurse take you to him,” the doctor said. “And I’ll personally get you updates when I can. Vickie is a tough woman; I’ve known her all my life. She’s definitely a fighter.”

“Yes she is,” Glen said. He couldn’t stop the tears from coming. 

A nurse came through the ER doors. “This way, Chief. I’ll take you to your son.”

TWENTY EIGHT

The scream alerted all four of them. It had come from a child. But it wasn’t the scream of happy children playing in the afternoon; this shriek had terror behind it. Something bad had happened to the kid who owned this voice. It sent a chill down everyone’s spine. 

Lauren stood on the sidewalk closest to the house where the noise came from. She was looking at it with a cold, lifeless expression. Reverend Allen came up next to her and anxiously watched with piqued concern.  

In a flash, a child ran out the front door, hysterically yelling and waving his arms. He had no destination in mind, just a mad dash to get as far away from the house as possible. 

Clay ran up and stopped him. “It’s okay, buddy. Calm down. Everything is okay.”

“He’s in this house!” the kid frantically yelled. 

Agent Ward didn’t need to hear another word. He didn’t need to ask questions about the situation or wonder anymore about how they had ended up here. There was no doubt in his mind, now, that whatever they were looking for—human or something else—was here.

He pulled his firearm and tactically held it up to his line of sight. Moving slowly, he entered the yard, keeping his eyes on the front door where the kid had just come from. The house was quiet.

Clay held the boy, and Lauren and Reverend Allen watched Agent Ward go to work. No one made a sound as they focused on Ward, who was so intense at the moment it made them all feel intimidated.

Suddenly, Agent Ward’s attention shifted from the front door to the side of the house. His gun barrel swiftly followed his eyes. “Stop right there!” he shouted, so loudly it caused everyone to jump.

“There it is, Reverend,” Lauren said in a low, guttural voice. She was disgusted at the sight in front of her. “That’s it!”

Reverend Allen looked at the source of everyone’s attention. A man had come out the back door of the house, near a small woodpile on the patio. He was thin with longer dark hair. But the worst part of his description had nothing to do with his appearance; it had everything to do with what he carried under his left arm: a small boy. The bastard was abducting a child!

“Drop the kid,” Agent Ward yelled. “Now!”

The man turned and faced Agent Ward from about twenty feet away. He knelt down and held the boy in front of him like a human shield. The boy was hardly conscience and didn’t put up a struggle. The man slowly pulled out a buck knife from his back pocket and opened the blade with one thumb. He smiled as he pressed the blade up to the child’s throat. He continued staring at Agent Ward, sarcastically grinning as if he were enjoying the moment.

“Put the knife down, now, and let go of the kid,” Agent Ward commanded.

“Does that ever work?” the man asked. “Has anyone ever just handed over a weapon because you asked them to?”

“Put it the fuck down, now!” Ward yelled.

The man laughed. “No. Now what?” He pushed the knife blade tighter against his hostage’s throat and a small line of blood released from the boy’s skin. “Want to see what an esophagus looks like from the inside?” he said, grinning wider.

“No!” Lauren screamed.

The man looked over in her direction. “Shut up, whore!” he yelled. His face had changed from sadistic sarcasm to rage. 

Reverend Allen noticed how Lauren had affected this madman. The guy seemed furious at the idea that she would speak to him. And his eyes showed even more indignation. This man had never seen Lauren Rivers before today; the reverend was sure of it. But he hated her like a mortal enemy. 

“Put the knife down,” Ward said. “There’s no way out of this, and you know it.”

The man continued staring at Lauren, searing his hatred into her with his glare. “Kill her!” he growled. “Kill the whore!” His voice sounded guttural and furious.

“Hey, fuck you,” Clay shouted. 

Reverend Allen looked at Clay. “No, Clay, don’t”

Clay remained still, not taking his eyes off of the man who had just insulted his wife. All he wanted for Christmas this year was five minutes alone with this jerk-off.

“Kill her and I’ll set the boy free,” the man said. His voice sounded grotesque now, like something that almost wasn’t human. “Kill the whore and the boy lives.”

Ward tried his hardest to get an open lane from the front site of the Glock to this asshole’s forehead, but it was way too risky. He knew he was a tight shot, but not today; there were too many emotions involved.

“I imagined this day would come,” the man said. “When you worthless flesh sacks would attempt to unite to flatter your God. Allow me to be the one to enlighten you… He doesn’t care. In fact, He cares less about you than I do.” He laughed again, maniacally. His voice had become a screech like a dying crow. “You are no more than a minor inconvenience to Him.” He continued bellowing even harder in that inhuman voice.

“Don’t listen to it,” Reverend Allen yelled out. “These are the words of the fallen. It has no place here.”

“Another word from you and I’ll cut this little pig’s head off!” the man roared at Reverend Allen. 

Henry Ward was not usually one for praying. He believed there was probably something out there after we die, but who’s God it actually was, he did not know. He simply figured life went the way it was going to go on its own, and someday he’d kick the bucket and find out one way or the other. But right now, he needed help and didn’t know where else to get it. This guy was going to slit a child’s throat, and the only thing he could do was put a few rounds into the fucker after it was too late. He looked up at the sky and from his heart he said to himself: I don’t know if You’re up there or not, or if You actually care, but we could really use a hand down here. Anything at all…

“Katie! That’s where I know you from,” the man said to Ward. “She was an offering from my last traveling companion. Oh, I remember her well. Her suffering was delectable!”

Ward’s heart sunk in his chest. The son of a bitch had hit the one trigger in his soul that could bring him to his knees. But how the hell did this asshole know about her? He’d never seen this person before today—before this very moment. He couldn’t possibly know about Katie. And then it happened. A flash in the eyes staring back at him. He knew those eyes and that predatory gaze. He had studied them in photographs and even in person on two occasions. Those dark fucking eyes which belonged to Hanson Parker.

It took every ounce of will Ward could muster not to squeeze off a round into the head of his target, certainly risking the kid’s life along with it. Wrath had filled his heart, heavier than stone. He would die here today before letting this animal live another moment. 

That was Hanson Parker, staring back at him. He’d bet everything he had on it. How was this possible? Was it a relative, perhaps? A brother? No, there was something different at work here. Whatever it was, Ward knew in his heart that the creature who had destroyed part of his soul was standing before him, here and now. 

“How serendipitous we meet like this,” the man said. “Is there anything you’d like to say to Katie? She’s licking the floor of the pit at the moment, but I can get a word to her if you’d like?” He belched out more of his vile hysterics.

Suddenly, the man reached back with his left hand to grab something out of the air. The boy slipped away from his grasp, fell to the ground on his face, and lay perfectly still. In an instant, the lane had opened.

TWENTY NINE

That horrible night in 1964 had played out in Ron Dzerbeck’s mind almost daily since it happened fifty-seven years ago. No one should have to know pain like that. A maniac had taken the four people he loved the most in an instant, like blowing out a match. One second they were a happy, loving family, the next second they were gone. He had replayed the scene over and over, countless times, always questioning himself and his judgment. If he could have just reacted faster, he might have saved some of them, instead of just himself. But he didn’t, and now they were gone.

He had done the best he could at living a happy life after the dust had cleared and the newspapers had stopped running stories about Harlan Wallace, making him the main topic of conversation. One thing—if not the main thing—that had made it possible to move on was the town itself. The people of Cumberland Springs had understood they would all be raising Ronnie Dzerbeck, not just his grandparents. And that they did. Everyone had done their part to let Ronnie know he would never be alone, and he would now be a part of everyone’s family. And for Ronnie’s sake, they let the story fade from the town history. No one talked about it or asked him questions. They simply let it fade from memory.

But it would never fade from Ronnie’s memory… never! The screams of his family suffering at the hands of that bastard echoed in his ears nightly. He had learned to live with the screams and understand them for what they were (his guilt for surviving, for not saving them, for only being able to save himself). It was all bullshit, though, and he knew that, too. He couldn’t have saved them. That lunatic had done away with his family so fast, there was simply nothing else he could have done about it. 

Nothing he could have done about it…

Nothing he could do about it—do being present tense.

There was nothing he could have done about it then, but what could he do about it now? Yes, now! He had just looked into the eyes of Harlan Wallace once again, and the bastard was in the middle of another rampage. It didn’t have to end the way it did with his family. This story wasn’t written yet. The book was still open, and the ending was not in ink.

Ron ran through the O’Neil’s house, the way the man had gone, and out the back door, which emptied onto a backyard patio. He looked around outside, but didn’t see him. What he did see, though, gave him a slight boost of confidence. At the edge of the patio, next to a small outdoor fireplace, was a woodpile. Next to the woodpile, along with a few other tools, was a beautiful, long-handled axe. It looked brand new, like they had maybe used it twice at most. This was a game changer. He knew the guy had a knife, but an axe would best that little blade any day of the week. 

He picked up the axe—it felt heavy in his hands—and walked into the side yard. His search for the man ended almost as quickly as it had started. The guy was in the middle of the yard, facing the street with his back turned to Ron. He was kneeling down. Ron’s heart dropped when he saw what was happening. The son of a bitch was holding James O’Neil in front of him like a hostage. He had the hunting knife pressed to the boy’s throat. But there was something happening that Ron hadn’t accounted for. A man in a black suit was holding a gun on the guy from about twenty feet away. The prick’s attention was completely focused on that person. 

There was no time to waste. This would not happen again, not as long as Ron Dzerbeck still lived. He gripped the axe handle tightly and raised it above his head. Running with a full head of steam, Ron charged, bringing the axe down at the man’s head the second he was in range.

He braced himself for the feeling the axe would give when the blade entered his target’s skull, but it didn’t come. There was no bone splitting or blood splattering. The Axe stopped in mid-air, before meeting its intended target, and held there.

Ron looked on in horror. The guy had reached back with his left hand and grabbed the axe handle just before it reached his head. 

Harlan Wallace—or whoever the hell this person really was—looked up at Ron and smiled a menacing grin. “Not this time, young sir.” He laughed, and the shrillness of it was more unnerving than nails on a chalkboard. “Not this time!” The despicable laughter continued.

THIRTY

Ward couldn’t believe the stroke of luck that had just fallen over the situation. A distraction had come out of nowhere. Someone had approached the man—who Ward was now certain was Hanson Parker—from behind, and attempted to hit him over the head with something. It was a failed attempt on that person’s part, but it had distracted the guy enough that he dropped the kid. The lane was clear.

Protocol dictated that an agent should not fire when the risk of hitting innocent civilians was high. But there was no time for protocol at the moment. Ward saw the full center mass of the man’s chest, starting back at him like a clean silhouette target on a firing range. He didn’t hesitate. Three rounds broke from the chamber of Agent Ward’s Glock 19, bursting into the calm morning air, causing everyone’s ears to ring in shock. A second later, three well grouped red spots appeared in the chest area of his target’s t-shirt. 

Ward continued looking down the barrel of his gun. What happened next would bore its way into his memory, never to be forgotten.

THIRTY ONE

Pop! Pop! Pop!

Three loud cracks rang out in a fast, rhythmic succession, like a marching band drummer giving a tightly tuned snare drum three aggressive whacks. The noise made Ron jump back a few steps, but didn’t cause him to lose his grip on the axe handle. The loud bangs also caused something else to occur. The man with the stringy long hair and scruffy face—the man who Ron was certain was Harlan Wallace, alive once again—had released his grip on the axe and had fallen to the ground. He lay there, looking up at Ron, still holding onto that repulsive smile, though now his teeth and lips were coated with dark, rich blood.

The man gurgled, trying to speak, and blood spit from his mouth in a fountain of red. “It appears as though we won’t have the opportunity to reminisce anymore today, young sir,” the man said. “I so wanted to tell you how your sisters are suffering these days, and how your father is watching your mother service the master’s minions. It is quite a sight!” Streams of blood ran from both sides of his mouth.

Ron’s face changed. Flashes of himself and his two sisters playing a board game at the dining room table on the night they were killed—just hours before—ran through his mind. They were so innocent, so happy, so full of life. For years he had tried to think of them in this way instead of the condition Harlan Wallace had left them in after his rampage, but it was so hard. It was as if his mind knew when he was having happy thoughts about them. It always perked up to say: “Wait a second, Ron… let’s not forget about this!” It was all blood and bone and carnage from there.

He looked down at this hideous creature who had stolen his life from him all those years ago. It mocked him now, laughed at him. It enjoyed what it had done to him. This bastard, who had no business existing in our world, had returned and was about to continue the work it had started back then—until twelve-year-old Ron had stopped him with a twelve-gauge, that is.

Another flash came into his mind, an image no human on earth should ever have to witness. It was the first thing he saw when he came down the stairs; the first time he had seen what had happened to his family. Their condition and the horror frozen forever on all of their faces. His mother, Caroline, his father, Ken, his sister, Marie, and his youngest sister, Elizabeth, all butchered and cast aside like unusable slaughterhouse carcasses. They didn’t deserve that—no human did. 

The man—or Harlan Wallace, or whatever the hell this vile thing was—tried to speak again, but Ron had heard enough. He raised the axe over his head and brought it down into the face of the beast. But once was not enough—it would never be enough. He pried it out and brought it down again, this time with more force and rage. Then again, faster, harder. Then again, and again and again. His wrath had given him strength he had never felt before, and he continued driving the axe into the face and chest of this loathsome filth that now lay at his mercy. He couldn’t stop, and no one could stop him. Blood and flesh splashed up from what remained of this creature, coating Ron’s entire front with its gore. It was in his hair, his mouth, his eyes… He continued bashing. 

Finally, there was nothing left to give. Ron—Ronnie—Dzerbeck dropped the axe and knelt beside the unrecognizable mound of blood-soaked flesh. The tears came hard, and he broke down. 

Moments later, an arm covered his shoulders, and he felt the presence of someone kneeling next to him.

“It’s over, Ron,” a voice said in his ear. It was the voice of Reverend Allen. “It’s all over.”